


A Mage, a Templar, and the Herald of Andraste walk into a bar ...

by emmadilla



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abandonment, Child Abandonment, Confessions, Drinking, F/M, Family Member Death, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscarriage, Not Canon Compliant, Stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadilla/pseuds/emmadilla
Summary: Cullen somewhat begrudgingly accepts an invitation to drink from Dorian and ends up learning a lot more about the Herald than he ever suspected. Instead of ruining the mood of the night, however, it just pulls the three friends closer together, two of them even closer than he thought possible.





	A Mage, a Templar, and the Herald of Andraste walk into a bar ...

**Author's Note:**

> So, my "main" in DA:I is a female elf that romances the Iron Bull, but I like experimenting with different play styles and had created this human mage. And, of course, I ended up romancing Cullen with her, and I ended up with a headcanon that sort of grew out of control and into ... this. And I know it's not 100% canon compliant on how Cullen and a female Inquisitor get together, but just go with it, okay?

The melodic strains of “Sera was never” floated through the air of the tavern, cutting through the even the raucous laughter and loud conversations that were being held. The Bull’s Chargers were, surprisingly, one of the quieter bunches, but they would start up their own songs now and then just to make things interesting. Cullen nursed a pint of ale as Dorian sat across from him with a glass of wine, awaiting their third companion. The Commander didn’t go out to the tavern often, but he swore sometimes that Dorian could sell a fennec its own fur and he’d convinced him that seeing the Commander relaxing _once_ in a while wouldn’t wear on the soldier’s morale. And, if anything, it would _help_ , according to the mage, because it made him seem a little more _human_. Cullen had sighed and rolled his eyes, but ultimately acquiesced, especially when he found out that Dorian was planning on meeting up with the Herald. At the prospect of spending a little down time with her – especially after the wonderful time they had playing chess the other week – he found he couldn’t say no then. When he agreed, Dorian had grinned wickedly, like he’d figured out something, though he didn’t say anything as he simply turned on his heel and left the Commander’s office.

 

And now, in the local tavern at Skyhaven, they simply waited for her to appear. They weren’t waiting long before she ducked in through the door, tucking a lock of light blond hair behind her ear. Her small ponytail was falling out a little, no doubt the result of whatever she’d been busy with all day, and she looked tired, like she’d rather be retiring to bed. But when she saw the two men at an otherwise deserted table, her face lit up and she made a beeline straight for them, ducking and dodging the other tavern inhabitants until she plopped down at the head of the table, Cullen to her left and Dorian to her right. The latter was already pouring her a glass of wine out of the pitcher he’d procured, and she thanked him as she took a sip. “Working late today?” he asked.

 

She nodded. “I was helping Dagna with some enchantments. It wasn’t hard, just … involved.”

 

Cullen nodded as he took a sip of his ale, trying not to conspicuously stare at her. Guinnevere Trevelyan. Rebel mage. Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor. She encompassed many different things, and at times it seemed like she was on a pedestal, far out of his reach. But then she’d look at him and flash him that smile and it felt like a goddess had descended to Thedas to show him favour. It seemed almost odd the way he was drawn to her, given that he was a former Templar and her background as part of the mage rebellion. All things considered, she should be someone he was especially wary of. And in the beginning, he was. But the more he’d gotten to know her, the little time he’d spent with her, it showed him the humanity behind the magic. Of course, being friends with none other than Dorian Pavus helped in that regard, too. Theirs was a strange, almost random relationship, full of sniping and sass. But it was all in jest, all good natured, and Cullen had to admit that this idea of an occasional meeting in the tavern to unwind and talk about anything that _didn’t_ directly involve the Inquisition – nothing more than piddling day to day nonsense – was actually a good idea.

 

Not that he would ever tell Dorian that. If he did, he was sure he’d never hear the end of it.

 

Turning to Cullen, Guinnevere asked, “And what of your day?”

 

“Same as it always is, it seems,” he admitted, chuckling as he pondered that her days were a lot more exciting and interesting than his. He also noted that she asked _him_ first, and not her fellow mage, which he was sure Dorian was up to something far more interesting to her. He filed that bit of information in the back of his mind as he added, “The Iron Bull has taken to helping with training some of the greener recruits.”

 

Her delicate eyebrow arched ever so slightly in surprise. “Oh? And how is that going? Is he scaring any of them away?”

 

Cullen couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as he assured, “No. He’s tough, but fair. He seems particularly adept at sussing out their strengths and weaknesses and gearing their training to account for that.”

 

“Likely the Ben-Hassrath in him,” she commented as she took a sip of wine.

 

“I suspect as much,” Cullen confirmed, pointedly looking at at his own mug. Casual conversation was not exactly a strength of his. He was a soldier, he was built to fight, not to talk, and most of his daily conversations revolved around this, whether it was training, the state of the troops, missions they were sent on, or Inquisition matters that required his input as Commander. He had precious few people he could just sit down and converse with for _fun_ , but he had two of them sitting right here, and while he fell silent, neither of them seemed to draw attention to it or fault him for it.

 

Instead, Guinnevere switched topics, turning to Dorian as she finally asked him, “And what is it you’ve been up to? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you spending an awful lot of time in the library …”

 

Dorian grinned widely, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask him this, and he immediately launched into a simplified – as he put it, though Cullen still could barely follow – version of a theory he’d been researching in regards to Corypheus and the orb. He felt he was still missing some information that he suspected he could find in Tevinter, but he was reluctant to make the trip all the way back there just to fetch a few musty journals. Besides how he was treated in his homeland, it was known now that he was part of the Inquisition, and with the Venatori on the loose, it was far too dangerous for him besides. Guinn offered to look over what he’d compiled to see if some fresh eyes could draw new conclusions, and he was quite happy to take her up on that offer. “Tomorrow, though,” he insisted. “For now, that’s the last of business I want to discuss.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more,” the Herald commented with a smile, raising her glass in motion with Dorian and Cullen followed suit. “So, Cullen,” she began immediately, “did you finally write your sister?”

 

The Commander couldn’t help the way his face reddened slightly as he remembered when Guinnevere had found the letter from his sister, Mia, after the whole incident at Haven. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his sister, nor that he wanted to torture her or cause her grief. It was just that he hadn’t had the _time_ to properly sit down and compose a letter to her. It seemed every chance he got, everything he had to explain just seemed far too much to put into words at the moment and he’d abandon it. Guinn had pestered him about it since she found out, and this time he was finally able to respond with, “Yes, I did. And I even paid the courier extra to pick up some flowers for her.”

 

“How thoughtful of you, Commander,” Dorian noted with only a small hint of sarcasm. “If only I had someone to send me some flowers … that would be rather nice.”

 

Guinn flashed him a mischievous smile. “I’ll make sure to let a hint or two slip to Bull.”

 

Dorian choked on his wine at the suggestion, but recovered quickly, mumbling, “In that case, it’ll take _forever_ to clean up … Maker knows he’d go overboard with it.”

 

Cullen found himself laughing into his ale at the thought of Dorian’s quarters littered with flower petals, bouquets nestled into every possible contained that would hold them, and a chain of flowers that rested across the footrest and headboard of the bed. “You really think so?”

 

Guinnevere chuckled. “Pretty sure Bull would wear a damn flower crown if Dorian said he thought it was sexy.” That caused another round of laughter at their table, something that was hard fought for these days for the three compatriots, but a welcome change from the sombre business they dealt with every day. As a result, they spent the next hour or so debating just how high The Iron Bull might jump if Dorian asked him to. It was only after they seemingly thoroughly exhausted that line of discussion that Guinn hesitantly asked Dorian, “Have you … heard from your father? After Redcliffe?”

 

Dorian nodded as he set down his emptied glass, reaching for the pitcher to refill it as he replied, “I have. It’s … we’re going slow. But we _are_ going.”

 

Reaching for the pitcher for a refill for herself, Guinnevere remarked, “Well no matter how slow it goes, I’m happy to hear it is indeed going. I’m very proud of you.”

 

If the Tevinter’s cheeks hadn’t already been slightly flushed from drink – he and Guinn were close to finishing their second pitcher already – then Cullen might have thought he blushed, but as it was it was difficult to distinguish. In reply, all he could muster was, “Well, copious amounts of wine helps.”

 

Excusing himself for a moment, Cullen slipped up to the bar to get another refill of his own mug, and it was then that he realised something. Both he and Dorian had talked about and revealed things about their own families – both good and bad – but he didn’t really know much about Guinn’s family. He knew she was a part of the Trevelyan family, of course, a noble house with Templar ties, but beyond that he knew nothing. It was a fairly large family – large enough that she and Dorian were technically related, however distant that association was – but about her immediate family, he knew nothing. She never talked about parents or siblings or anything of the sort, and as he traced his steps back to the table they occupied, he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

Normally he was a bit more reserved, but after a number of pints of ale, he was just drunk enough that he didn’t give his wonderings a second thought before he blurted out, “What about you? Have you heard from your family at all, since the Conclave?”

 

There was a subtle change in her body language, the way she stiffened, sat up a little straighter, pursed her lips as she set her glass on the table. “I have not. And I think I’m better off for it.”

 

Dorian now noticed her change in mood as he drained his glass and directed Cullen to do the same. “Let’s get out of here, I think a little fresh air would do us all some good. I have a particularly nice Orlesian brandy in my quarters. Care for a taste? I finally have some proper chairs for my balcony.”

 

Guinnevere nodded swiftly, finishing off what little laid in her glass as Cullen chugged the mug he’d just refilled. _Bullocks,_ he thought, thankful he’d eaten a healthy dinner as the sudden influx would not have sat well on an emptier stomach. Depending on how he felt once they made it to Dorian’s quarters, he might turn down the brandy, but once they stepped out into the cool night air, he immediately felt refreshed. _Maybe a little bit wouldn’t hurt_ , he reasoned as he followed behind the two mages, finding his feet were not stumbling as much as he’d thought they might, even with the countless stairs they ascended as they made their way to the loft that Dorian had claimed as his own. It was a bit smaller than some of the other rooms, but it was isolated well and afforded the Tevinter mage the quiet he needed for his research. It was also located the closest to the library out of all of the personal rooms, so it was that much easier to search for books and documents and then retreat into the quiet. As was typical for his Tevinter style, the walls were covered in luxurious drapes and the furniture was of a pristine, fine quality, nothing like could be requisitioned through the Inquisition itself. No, Dorian had spent his own coin outfitting his space in the manner to which he was most accustomed.

 

Once the Commander and the Herald had settled into the wonderfully plush chairs nestled beneath the covered balcony, Dorian fetched the unopened bottle and three glasses, filling them all with a generous portion before he leaned back in his own chair, propping his feet up on the ottoman in front of them. The chairs were arranged in a circle, as the balcony was small, but it was cozy and intimate. The full moon filtered through the wide opening between the ceiling and the railing, and Cullen couldn’t help but notice the way it highlighted the different strands of blond in Guinnevere’s hair. He swallowed hard as he took a sip of the alcohol, feeling a need to apologise for the turn in mood as he said, “I’m sorry if I brought up a sore point. I just realised … we know so much about each other’s families, but nothing really of yours. If you don’t want to talk about it, of course, you don’t have to, and I again apologise if I overstepped a boundary.”

 

She offered him a soft, reassuring smile as she licked her lips of the brandy and shook her head. “It’s fine. I haven’t talked about my family in a long time. I suppose … now is as good a time as any.” She took another sip, pausing as the burning liquid made its way down her throat before she continued, “My father was a Templar, and very … _devout_ , if you get my meaning. He and my mother, they actually married for love, if you can believe it. We were one of the lower branches, so there wasn’t as much pressure on him to marry well, though he did anyway as my mother’s family was a from successful band of merchants. He wanted to ascend the ranks in our family, my mother wanted to have lots of children, so I suppose they figured they could kill two nugs with one stone. The more children they could have, the more prominent positions they could be put in, and the higher we could rise through the ranks.” She sighed as she added, right before taking a sip of alcohol, “Unfortunately, pregnancy did not agree with my mother.”

 

“So I take it you’re an only child, then?” Dorian concluded, to which she nodded.

 

“My mother had … many miscarriages before me. I’m not even sure how many, to be honest. They had all but given up hope that she would carry to term when she finally fell pregnant with me. I was born early, but healthy enough, and even the fact that I was a girl and not the boy that my father had been hoping for didn’t seem to matter.” She took another drink before she continued, “It was a long, hard labour for my mother, and she lost a good bit of blood. She passed out, even, at the end, and the midwife had to work my one shoulder out herself so they could finish delivery and tend to my mother. The healers warned her quite sternly that she would risk death if she fell pregnant again. And so, I was it.” She paused for a while, so long that Cullen wondered if she would finish. But eventually she sighed deeply and continued, “Despite the fact that I wasn’t a boy, my father was overjoyed that he had a living child. He didn’t _spoil_ me, necessarily, but he saw to it that I was well off. I had the best tutors, the best caretakers, the best clothes and toys and books and anything my heart desired. We were all happy as a little family. I thought we’d be like that forever.” Her expression darkened as she added, a bitter edge to her voice, “And then we found out I had magical abilities. And just like that, all of his precious plans went out the window.” At that, she tipped the glass back and finished her drink, and Dorian was quick with the refill. “He felt ashamed that he’d produced a mage heir, him of all people.”

 

“But why?” Dorian asked, still struggling with how mages were viewed at times in the south.

 

Cullen had a sneaking suspicion, however. “When you said he was devout, do you mean ...”

 

“He was anti-mage,” she confirmed. “And then his only daughter turned out to be the very thing he hated.” She laughed a moment as she added, “He was beyond angry. Enraged didn’t even begin to cover it. My mother tried to convince him to let me stay home, to cover up my abilities, but he refused. Said I had to go live with _my kind_. And so they had me shipped off to the Circle in Ostwick. I was 11.” Shaking her head, she commented, “I had walked by that tower many a time, sneaking a peek at it when my father wasn’t looking, wondering what it was like in there. I never thought I would get to find out first hand.” She paused to take another long sip of brandy before she continued, “My family didn’t live far, but for me it felt like they were on the other side of Thedas. My father wanted nothing to do with me, but my mother did visit me a few times. One time, she ...” Guinn’s eyes shone with unshed tears and her voice wavered ever so slightly as she said, “One time she told me she was with child. My father was so desperate for an heir that wasn’t a mage, he forced her into another pregnancy, healer’s warnings be damned. I remember when she told me, I was scared I would never see her again.”

 

Cullen spared a glance over at Dorian, whose eyes flicked over to him. This was news to them both, obviously, and neither of them were quite sure what to say. What they did know is that this was a very sensitive subject, and their friend was hurting and needed them, needed their support. The Commander leaned forward in his seat and reached out to settle a hand on Guinnevere’s knee, not in any kind of lascivious way, just to let her know that they were there and they weren’t going anywhere.

 

Her eyes finally raised from her glass of brandy to Cullen, and the very edges of her lips twitched in a half-smile as she covered his hand with her own, a silent acknowledgement of his support. Taking a breath, she confirmed, “I only saw her twice after that. She died in childbirth, and the babe was born sleeping. My father blamed me, said that if I wasn’t a mage then everything would have been fine. He said I ruined everything, and that he never wanted to see me again. I was 13.”

 

Cullen felt sick, and it wasn’t from the alcohol, but from the atrocious way that his friend, his Guinn, had been treated. And from family no less! Perhaps Dorian could empathise with her a little more regarding similar family, but Cullen had always had a pretty good relationship with his, even though it was distant at times. Still, he knew that should he need someone to go to, he always had his family to lean on. “I am sorry,” he murmured, not quite sure what else to say.

 

Dorian had a little bit more to offer. “That wasn’t your fault, Guinn. Your father made his own decisions, no one forced his hand. He has only himself to blame. And, perhaps, that is the problem for him.” Leaning forward, the Tevinter mage set his glass on the stone floor before he continued, “If I have the measure of him – and I believe I do – he felt himself entitled to more from life. And when things did not go his way, instead of adjusting and bettering himself in order to advance – as he should have in the beginning instead of placing the pressure on his child – he blamed you for the situation, for something that you could not help and had no control over.”

 

She nodded, turning to Cullen as she asked, “Do you know why I joined the mage rebellion? The real reason? It wasn’t just the Templars forcing our hand. Maybe that was the reason for some of them turning, but for me … I had spent my whole life up until that point living passively. Everything I did, everyone I saw, it was all strictly controlled. Even before I was sent to the Circle, as well off as I was, I still had no agency. I was forced to learn and take on subjects I had no interest of because it would help me attain the best possible husband. I was barred from other interests because they would only waste my time and distract me. My parents tried to make up for it, but for all intents and purposes, before magic, I lived in a gilded cage. And afterward, it was just a cage.” Guinn went to take another sip but realised her glass was empty and set it on the floor, like Dorian. “My decision to join the rebellion, it was the first time I asserted my own agency, the first time I stopped living passively and made my own decision about something. It was the first time I felt … _free_. And it was wonderful. And I wanted everyone else to feel the same thing I was feeling.”

 

Digesting what she said, Cullen nodded. “I can understand that.” The time he’d spent with Dorian and Guinn had been enlightening, to say the least. Though he had been surrounded by mages for years, to him they had been nothing more than charges, little more than cattle to herd around, and even kill should the need arise. But they had shown him that, while some mages could be dangerous, they were no more so than Templars. It wasn’t who they were that made them inherently so, it was their decisions, and anyone could decide to turn evil. He knew that now far better than he ever had before. And while the idea of mages simply existing without any form of oversight still made him a little uneasy, he knew that the solution wasn’t to just stick them all into a cage and wait until they fucked up to intervene. Innocent people could die just as easily from a rogue Templar’s sword as they could from a spell gone wrong or a possessed mage. Preemptive punishment for something that may or may not come to pass didn’t sit well with him, not anymore.

 

After that revelation, the whole evening relaxed once more, and they wound down their break in Dorian’s quarters, no longer drinking, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. At the end of it all, Cullen escorted Guinn to her own quarters, making sure she made it there safely. He was still sturdy on his feet, but the Herald stumbled a little, enough to make Cullen reach out and settle a hand on her shoulder to help guide her. She wasn’t overly drunk, at least, just enough to affect her coordination a little. It was nothing to guide her through the halls and into the door that denoted her private quarters. As they paused outside her inner door, Guinn let her hand rest on the door handle as she asked, “Cullen? Can I tell you something?”

 

“Of course,” he replied earnestly, eager to offer the Herald whatever support she needed. After hearing what her home life had been like, it had given him some unique insight into her, and he felt like he understood her just a little bit more. He only hoped she wouldn’t begrudge him for bringing the subject up in the first place.

 

“You’re the first person here who’s asked about my family.” Turning to smile at him, she added, “Not that I think that no one else cares, but … thank you. I think I needed to get that off my chest.”

 

Cullen swallowed hard, trying to hold back everything he wanted to say, everything that he felt. He’d been wary of Guinnevere at first, of course, because of her part in the mage rebellion. It was instinctual of him to be suspicious of rogue mages. But she had made a concerted effort to show that she was not a threat, she’d gone out of her way to acquaint herself with everyone she travelled with and with everyone on the war council, and even with the stable hands that kept the horses and the runners who delivered messages and the servants who kept the fort going strong. Bit by bit, little by little, he’d found himself falling for her, and he wasn’t sure when it had happened, and he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to tell her all of this, confess his feelings, _kiss_ her, but he hesitated. They were both still slightly inebriated, and he didn’t want a confession to later be marred by next morning regret. So instead, he nodded and said, “If you ever need to talk, I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Her eyebrows raised slightly. “Just to talk?” Cullen wasn’t quite sure how to take that, but Guinn launched ahead anyway, sighing as her eyes drifted down to settle on the emblem on his chest. “I know you left the Templars, but as a mage … do you think you could ever think of me as anything more than what I am?”

 

Sucking in a breath, all thought seemed to leave him, and he struggled for something to say, something nice, something eloquent, something that a lady like Guinnevere deserved. Instead, all he could scramble his mind together to say was, “I already do.” Reaching out to gently run a hand down the outside of her shoulder, he murmured, “It seems too much to ask, but I want to ...”

 

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Guinnevere, taking hold of her life and making her own decisions once again, grabbed him by his fur cloak and pulled him toward her, sealing her soft lips over his own. Cullen melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, relishing every little part of this moment. The way her slight body fit against his own, how her lips tasted like wine and brandy, and even how soft her hair was when he reached up and cupped the back of her head. Outside that hallway, the entire world waited on the Herald, the Inquisitor, and how she led the Inquisition. There were people waiting on Cullen, depending on him for leadership and the guidance that came with his experience. But there, outside Guinnevere’s quarters, all of that seemed to fall away, like they were the only two people in existence. It was nice, for a change, to completely forget the problems of the world and just _be_.

 

As they pulled away, Cullen was suddenly nervous again, hoping that this wasn’t just a drunken mistake for Guinn. “Was that … are you ...” he stuttered, unsure how to voice his concerns.

 

She smiled gently as she reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing over the scar above his lip as she murmured, “This is perfect.”

 

Guinn bestowed one more, shorter, sweeter kiss and Cullen couldn’t even try to hide the smile that spread across his lips if he wanted to. “So, if it’s going to end like this, I think we need to take Dorian up on his invitations more often.”

 

Sparkling laughter drifted through the private hallway as Guinn laughed. “Yes, I think we do.” Pulling away from his embrace, she once more laid her hand on the door handle. Looking back over his shoulder, she threw him one last grin as she wished him, “Good night, Cullen.”

 

He nodded. “Good night, Guinn. Sleep well.”

 

Whether she immediately fell into bed or stayed up for hours, Cullen didn’t know. All he knew is he felt like he was floating as he made his way back to his own quarters, replaying the events of the past several minutes in his head. And as he laid down that night, he wasn’t afraid of whatever nightmares might await him as a result of the lyrium withdrawal. Instead, he thought of the Herald and her soft lips and softer words, and he smiled as he started to drift. And one thing was definitely for certain ...

 

He was going to have to send Dorian a whole basket of flowers for this.


End file.
